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Browsing Tag: we really don’t drink use alcohol as a coping mechanism I swear

Battle of Wills

The scene: We’re at the dinner table, Sunday night. We’ve settled down around a meal of take-out Italian, because, unlike the Norman Rockwellian family that gathers together over pot roast and mashed potatoes on Sunday, the idea of washing that many dishes is overwhelming this evening, so we beg the pardon of Mother Earth and dive in to our plastic containers. Please don’t judge us. Desperate times call for really bad environmentalism. The characters: David, quietly drinking his beer. Me, sort of drinking my own beer while sniveling unattractively through a haze of autumn hay fever. Quinn, actually sucking the cheese out of her ravioli, then, before we can stop her, throwing the pasta carcasses over the back of her high chair for the dog to catch. She’s happy, though, so that counts for something. Saoirse, meanwhile, is pitching a fit. A full-on, whiny, moaning, crying fit. The conflict: Saoirse wants bread. She has requested chicken tenders. (Yes, this former full-on vegetarian who only buys organic food for her family has fallen headfirst into the modern American fast-food trap, so chicken tenders it is. Stop the judgment, already…